Hopeless in Crimea

“Long live Russia!” “Long live Russia!”

“Leave Crimea alone!”  “No joining Russia!”

“Order! Order!”

 The loud uproar outside his house jolted Andrei, who was sitting lazily at the breakfast table, eating a pirozhki and sipping from a tall glass of milk. Andrei took a large bite and darted to the window like an arrow to take a peek outside. He saw a sea of white-blue-red tricolor Russian flags drowning out the blue-yellow Ukrainian flags. It was a showdown between pro-Russian activists and Ukrainian protestors. Scores of armed Simferopol police, wearing riot gear and black helmets, were yelling and shoving the mob to keep them away from the polling place, where a serpentine line of Crimeans eagerly awaited their turn to vote in the national referendum. Andrei’s parents- Nikolay and Maya - looked at each other in despair, resigned to the big choice their country was about to make. Andrei’s family belonged to the ethnic Russian majority in Crimea, and the referendum would decide whether they remained Ukrainians or Russians.

 “I guess this is it! The day has come when we can be proud Russians,” said Andrei’s father Nikolay attempting to sound enthusiastic, but his voice trailed off before he could finish.  

“What shall we do? Much is at stake for Russians and Ukrainians alike,” Maya, Andrei’s mother groaned. She paused and looked out the window, where demonstrators were tirelessly waving flags and shouting slogans. Maya was a very insightful woman, not easily swayed by popular opinion. She believed that Crimea should remain with Ukraine. Maya continued, “My cousin Alexei, who lives in America thinks we are too gullible and trust Putin’s propaganda to join Russia.”

“And what did you tell him, Maya?” Nikolay pressed.        

“I gave him the right answer. I told him that we’re not idiots. How can we trust Putin’s empty promises? - Promises to provide better life for us. My grandfather Vadim taught me well not to trust such sorts.”

“What happened to your grandfather, mom?” Andrei cut in, not able to contain his curiosity anymore. Andrei, barely twelve, was wise beyond his years.

“My grandfather was from Donetsk. He lived through the horror of the Holodomor, the Ukrainian famine of the 1930s. It’s a well-known truth that Stalin starved Ukraine into submission to gain control over the land,” declared Maya.                    

“But we’re Russians. Why didn’t Stalin protect our family?” asked Andrei, struggling to understand these grim facts.            

“You don’t want to know about Soviet tyranny. You are much too young to stomach such things.” Maya countered, trying to avoid a discussion on brutal Stalin era. 

Although Andrei was disturbed by the mention of Soviet brutality, his curiosity trumped his instinct to not press his agitated mom at this time. “I’m twelve years old, mom! I need to know about Russia’s past if I were to become a citizen of Russia.” Andrew plopped down on the sofa by Maya, his eyes demanding an answer. 

Maya glanced at Nikolay, silently pleading his permission as she cautiously proceeded to educate Andrei about Stalin’s tyranny. “Fair enough!” she said. “Stalin was ruthless. He wiped out opposition by packing off all the land owners (Kulaks) to brutal prison camps in far off places like Siberia. Stalin grabbed all the farmland and called it ‘Collectivization.’ As peasants put up a fight, Stalin decreed that all the harvest belonged to Soviet Russia. The Ukrainian grain was used to buy machinery from the West and support Stalin’s campaigns while the peasants starved.” Maya paused and drew a long breath, gently stroking Andrei’s hair. Guessing that much worse was about to come, Andrei drew closer to his mom. “Tens and thousands of children and elderly died out of starvation while the Soviet soldiers were fed well. The soldiers buried people who collapsed by the roadside even if they were still breathing.” Maya’s voice cracked as her emotions engulfed her.

Andrei’s hair stood up on the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine. His head reeled with questions as he held on tightly to his mom. How could anyone be so monstrous? What good is it to rule by force? Why can’t rulers be kind and provide freedoms to their people? Is killing the only way to remove opposition?... Maya tried to calm down Andrei but he wouldn’t stop. Andrei snapped, “And the West did nothing to stop this massacre?”

Maya had no choice but to explain further. “The West tried sending grain but the shipments were ruthlessly confiscated by Russia. But the fact is that the West made money from the sale of modern machinery to Soviet Russia.” Andrei couldn’t fathom the ways of the world. How could the world give up empathy and kindness in exchange for money? Then Andrei remembered his teachers mentioning that Russia is the sole supplier of gas to its neighbors.

Andrei put two and two together and asked Maya, “Who will stop Russia now if it threatens to cut off gas to Europe?”

“There you go!” “You spelled out my worst nightmare!” exclaimed Maya, looking proudly at her son.  Young Andrei squeezed the pillow, struggling to feel secure. He had hoped and wished with all his heart that Russia would honor its promise to give a better life, if only to save its world image.

Nikolay, who had been patiently listening to their emotional discussion, interrupted gently- “Son, I am afraid that we don’t have a choice here. Russia has already taken over Crimea. Sham or not, we have to vote in the referendum.”  “You stay safe!” shouted Nikolay as a desperate prayer and ushered Maya out the door like a dutiful soldier. Andrei nodded quietly, trying to get a grip on his feelings. Doubts and fears enveloped him once again as he began to feel powerless. What is to become of his family?  Would Russia treat them well?  Would Putin be the savior of Crimea or become another Stalin and starve the Crimeans?... Only time would tell.